


Love on the Brain

by SailorSlayer3641



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Smut, What happens in Russia doesn't stay in Russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9717086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSlayer3641/pseuds/SailorSlayer3641
Summary: Isabel and Oliver only talk in Russia. Instead, Felicity and Oliver find themselves changing the course of their relationship forever. What happens in Russia, doesn't stay in Russia.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you enjoy this season 2 canon divergent olicity fic. It was written for the Olicity Valentine's Day Smut-a-thon over on tumblr! My dialogue prompt was "I get off in a few minutes, you know." (this has the barest minimum to do with this fic, and i love it, lol)
> 
> The title and many themes from the fic were inspired by the Rhiana song "Love on the Brain." I highly recommend giving it a listen. You can find it over on youtube.
> 
> Happy reading!

##  ****

##  **“Love on the Brain”**

The gray wool blanket draped over her shoulders swallowed her up, making her look impossibly small. Oliver felt her hand in his… warm, soft, alive. He couldn’t move, knowing what he had almost lost. Every night he dreamed of the way her skin rose with goose bumps under his touch. Or the way her red lips parted in pleasure, his name in her mouth. Or the way one night in Russia had irrevocably changed him, body and soul.

He almost lost it tonight, lost her, and their endless opportunities.

So all he can do is stare into her glassy bespectacled eyes, cling to her, and tell her what he should have known all along.

“Felicity, he had you and he was going to hurt you. There was no choice to make.”

He was a fool to ever think there was.

***One Week Ago***

Felicity stared down at the clear liquid in her shot glass with disdain. It was her least favorite alcohol, but vodka was the only thing she knew with certainty how to order at the Russian hotel bar. Wincing, she threw the shot back, her throat instantly burning. While she waited for the drink to take its effect, she scrolled through her phone desperately hoping it would help her forget why she was sitting alone at a bar in a foreign land.

Russia was quickly becoming her least favorite country she had ever visited. It was cold, there were gulags… and there was Isabel Rochev. The previous night she hadn’t been invited out for drinks with the boys, and despite now knowing they had been working on the mission, it had still stung a bit. And earlier tonight, what would her eyes happen to land upon, but Oliver getting cozy with Isabel in the hotel lounge. Felicity chided herself for being so sensitive…so jealous.

Jealousy. There was no denying her feelings for the blue eyed archer. She fell for him long before she parachuted to certain death on the island of Lian Yu for the man. She figures it was somewhere between, “my coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood,” and “Felicity, I’m not gonna hurt you,” as he bled out on her back seat. Somehow, without her knowledge or consent, she had fallen completely in love with Oliver Jonas Queen…and he was painfully unaware, uninterested, and unattainable.

Maybe she was wallowing in self pity, but she was in an unfamiliar country where she didn’t know the language. She was severely jet-lagged…and she was alone. She hadn’t intended on wallowing though. After seeing Oliver and Isabel together, she had defiantly marched back up to her room and had done exactly what her mother had taught her. She put on something that made her feel sexy and confident, and she marched down to the bar refusing to waste her evening alone in her hotel room wondering what Oliver was doing.

The best laid plans…within a few minutes of getting herself comfortable at the bar, she took one look  around and realized it wasn’t as if she could really communicate with anyone here. Even if she had entertained the idea of finding a cute Russian to take back to her room, she knew she wouldn’t. Even if there hadn’t been a language barrier, there was a huge “Oliver-shaped barrier,” and it had been there for the past year and a half.

So, alcohol was her last resort. When she finally started to get that warm sensation in her stomach, her sour mood started to dissipate. To her surprise, the handsome bartender started speaking to her, in English.

“Why does the American beauty drink alone?”

Felicity blushed, but she wasn’t naive. She knew it was a line, and she knew he probably had used his job frequently to hook up with girls, but nonetheless, she didn’t see any harm in carrying on a conversation, maybe some innocent flirting.

“I’m here for work, but unfortunately I don’t know the language.”

The bartender, whose name she couldn’t pronounce from his name-tag, nodded his head in understanding. He pulled the same bottle of Russian vodka from behind the counter and refilled her shot glass. He makes small talk with her and a few not so subtle hints that he’s into her. She’s feeling better, for the moment, and she props her chin on her hand, listening to him recount some funny anecdote about a bachelor party. She’s laughing despite the fact that his thick accent prevents her from understanding a few things, that is until she feels the familiar feeling of a pair of stormy blue eyes on her.

She turns her head and sure enough, there’s Oliver making his way over to her. His sudden presence distracts her from what her bartender friend had started talking about. Quickly, she averts her eyes away from Oliver’s, and attempts to return her attention to the man across the bar from her.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” she asks, straightening her posture ever so slightly, the burn of Oliver’s gaze still lingering on her.

“I’m off in a few minutes, you know,” he says suggestively, his body leaning across the bar a bit more, a full charming smile on display.

***

Oliver’s skin itches, as if his whole body is begging him to escape the cold woman’s negative aura. He’d done what he had to in order to save face with Isabel. Join her for a drink, put on the “Ollie Queen” charm, and make her believe that being here in Russia has nothing to do with Arrow business and everything to do with Queen Consolidated. He’d even pulled out his rusty Russian.

The longer they sat there in the lavish lounge, the more his body screamed at him to get away from her. It was when her hand landed on his thigh that the warning bells really started to go off.

As diplomatically as he could, he spurred her advances, and being the prideful woman that she is, she took it upon herself to leave…she was an important woman after all, and it didn’t look good for her to be fraternizing with her co-ceo, lest she get a reputation like Felicity.

At that comment, Oliver had to bite his cheek to keep from verbally lashing out at her. He kept his lips terse and nodded his head to her in mock understanding. A weighty sigh left him when she finally disappeared behind the elevator doors. He tugged on his tie a bit before standing and making his way to the one place he had wanted to be all night.

But when he knocked on her hotel room door, silence was all that greeted him. Felicity had been on his mind all day, no thanks in part to Isabel’s comment about her short skirts. Oh, he’d been well aware of her short skirts, but he’d never quite put it together that some people might make assumptions about his and Felicity’s relationship. It frustrated him to no end that people would think so little of Felicity, but even moreso, he was angry at himself for putting her in the position to be judged. That was just like him, putting the mission first, everyone else be damned.

He tried to ignore the pesky thoughts that the apparent rumors made him think of though, like that stirring in his gut he gets when she enters a room, or the way he completely centers himself at the sound of her voice on the comms at night. He’s been carefully walling off all of those deeply buried feelings, feelings he doesn’t have the time or luxury for.

Even still, standing outside of her door, he’s surprised at how disappointed he is that she’s not answering. He’s surprised at how much he just wants to be in her presence, to welcome the soothing effect she has on him in the midst of feeling like a caged animal in Russia. Bratva can be anywhere and everywhere, and it haunts him and lingers on him like a disease. With her, he feels clean. Her friendship is all he can extort from her though.

He avoids eye contact with people as he meanders through the hotel in search of Felicity. She has to be here somewhere, and he already knows she wasn’t in the lounge, so he makes his way for the bar area. The lighting is dim and the decor is dark, so it’s not hard to spot her bright golden hair cascading down her back in waves. His hand twitches with the desire to feel those golden waves. Instead he stuffs the offending hand in his pocket before his breath catches and he freezes in place. She’s a vision with her head tilted back a bit laughing, her long legs on display as she sits atop a barstool like it’s a pedestal made for a goddess.

When he realizes it’s someone other than him making her laugh, that it’s a strange man in a foreign country flirting with his Felicity, his legs start moving. She glances his way, just for a millisecond, but it’s long enough for him to see her smokey eyes and red lips. Her lack of acknowledgement and the way she gives her full attention to the bartender lets him know something’s off with her.

He’s close enough now to hear the opportunistic man make a play for Felicity. He convinces himself that the man is up to no good, that he’s not just a normal guy falling under Felicity Smoak’s spell, just like him. Before he lets his unwarranted anger and jealousy out, he reminds himself that he has no claim over Felicity, and with the recent knowledge that his actions have caused rumors to fly around about her, he stops himself from interrupting. She deserves to make her own decisions without him trying to control her life. So he waits with baited breath a foot beside her.

She turns her head knowingly at him, acknowledging him before answering the other man’s question.

“Good for you. I’m sure after a long day of work you’re tired. Which reminds me that I have an early morning and should get some rest myself. Thank you for your company tonight,” she finishes politely, laying down a few bills.

Oliver breathes a little easier as they exchange pleasantries and the bartender walks away to serve another customer. Felicity’s standing up and putting away her phone and money into her clutch, when he finally decides to say something.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh really? Was that before or after you got cozy with Isabel?” she answers with a bite.

He looks at her dumbfounded, confused at what sounds like jealousy in her voice, but he shakes it off. He knows that she’s physically attracted to him, but he has no reason to believe that someone like Felicity would ever want to be with someone like him. There has to be another reason for her attitude.

He tries to tell her that it’s not what it looks like, but she cuts him off.

“Hey, it’s okay. What happens in Russia, stays in Russia. Just, wow. You really do have a type.”

He doesn’t even try to understand what she means by him having a type. He’s too concerned about the fact that she’s walking away. With one stride he catches up to her and without thought he grabs her wrist, halting her determined steps.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks her, allowing his true concern to show on his face.

In an instant she deflates, and he can feel the air around them calm. She looks up at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry. I think it’s just jet lag, and there’s just something about Isabel that irks my nerves.”

“I really meant it. Nothing happened. We were just talking, and I was trying to keep up appearances so she wouldn’t get suspicious about our trip.”

He watches her, happy to see that she accepts what he’s telling her, carefully avoiding the reason why he felt he had to clarify his actions with Isabel. They stand there momentarily, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, her lip pulled idly between her teeth. Clearing his throat, Oliver breaks the silence and reluctantly lets her go.

“I was going to order some room service instead of eating in the hotel restaurant out in the open. Do you want to join me? I don’t like the idea of you eating alone?” he tries to ask nonchalantly.

He’s happily surprised when she accepts his flimsy excuse to spend the evening with her.

He chuckles when she rubs her rumbling stomach and asks if he thinks they have a Big Belly Burger here, and without another word they make their way through the lavish corridors of the fancy Russian hotel, his hand on the small of her back.

When they enter his suite, Felicity immediately kicks off her heels, stretching as she makes her way to the satin lined sofa, slinking like a feline. He turns away from the distraction to pour some wine for them from the crystal decanter. Without having to ask, he calls the hotel restaurant and orders a burger just the way he knows she likes it, and a chicken caesar salad for him.

Her supine form is waiting for him when he reaches the sofa, and she looks as welcoming and warm as the lush fabric she’s sitting on. He’s not quite sure if he’s ever seen her in this light…outside of the dark and dank foundry…outside of the garish brightness of the modern walls of QC. She looks like comfort, home, and the definition of intimacy. Seeing her like this, it’s not so easy to keep her in the little box he’s been too scared to acknowledge, much less open.

He tells himself it’s just because they’re in a foreign country, alone, and completely separated from the world they know in Starling.

He settles on the other end of the small sette, leaning over to hand off her wine glass. She takes it gratefully with a soft, “mmm,” smelling it a bit before taking a small sip. Her eyes close as she savors it, a small smile gracing her features. He tries to ignore how the soft lighting reflects off of her now wet, dark red lips. He takes a big gulp out of his own glass trying to stave off the sudden dryness in his throat. The next words out of her mouth make him take another big gulp.

“So, are you ever going to tell me why being here in Russia is making you so cagey? I don’t suppose it has something to do with that bratva tattoo on your chest?”

To his surprise, words tumble out of his mouth like a fountain, one truth after another. He tells her about his time in Russia, about Kovar, Anatoly…Talia. She doesn’t flinch when he confesses his sins, how many lives he took in the name of brotherhood, or how many he took to keep the vow he made his father. She just listens, scoots a little closer to him, and puts a comforting hand on his knee. Her touch grounds him, burns him, and the fountain of words become a trickle as a calm silence settles over them. Her arm is resting on the back of the sofa, and her face is filled with unwarranted kindness and acceptance and serenity, like she wasn’t in the process of completely unravelling him.

The room service arrives just in time, just before his hand was about to brush a few of those golden strands out of her face, just before he was going to find out if her lips were as sinfully soft as they looked.

Amiable conversation fills the room in lieu of the heavier talk of his confessions as they make their way through their meals. She jokes and laughs and makes small talk…and makes him feel normal. Another glass of wine is poured after their plates are cleared, and childhood stories are exchanged. He tells her about the first time he and Tommy got in trouble with the police, and she tells him about moving across the country when she was only 16 to study at MIT.

He tries to ignore how much this feels like a first date, how he’s learning the small details of Felicity’s story and personality that he already knows and loves.

_Loves._

His chest tightens and his thumb and forefinger roll together as he continues to calmly listen to her story about spending her first Hanukkah alone, as if that sudden revelation hadn’t just clicked into place and suddenly made the universe make sense. He looks at her anew, and takes her hand in his, his thumb tracing over her knuckles.

Stillness settles around them while Felicity looks at him in confusion.

“Sounds lonely.”

***

She’s in the middle of laughing about how her roommate had to suffer through her nightly prayers and lighting of the menorah when his hand grips hers. She practically chokes when heart skips a beat under his comforting touch. Electricity buzzes and flits across her skin in the silence between them. _What_ is he doing?

“Sounds lonely,” he says softly.

Her smile fades from her face, but not in sadness… in awe. The way his eyes are staring into hers, she can see the understanding and empathy behind his words.

“Thank you,” is all she can manage under his heavy gaze. The look in his eyes, it’s as if she’s seeing all of him for the first time. Like he’s allowing her to see all of him.

Her eyes close when she feels the barest touch of his fingers across her cheek, moving a few errant strands of hair out of her face. It’s his words that take her breath away.

“You don’t deserve to be lonely. You deserve so much more, Felicity.”

His fingertips move along the shell of her ear and the edge of her jaw softly, stopping at the tip of her chin. She can’t seem to open her eyes, because whatever is happening surely can’t be real. Oliver doesn’t touch her like _that_. He doesn’t talk to her with such sweet words. He doesn’t look at her like _that_.

He’s her boss. She’s his tech support. She’s short and blonde, a Vegas girl abandoned by every man she’s ever loved. She’s not his type.

“Felicity. Look at me,” he demands, and she realizes that she’s had her eyes closed for an embarrsingly long time time.

“You are definitely my type,” he declares.

And then he leans down and brushes a chaste, innocent kiss across her speechless lips, as if he’s stealing it while he has the chance.

It’s over far too soon, and apologies fill the air as he backs away from her.

And it isn’t fair that she doesn’t understand what’s happening, or why Oliver looks like he’s done something unspeakable, she just knows that all night since they left the bar she’s been happier than she’s ever been before, and that she wants to feel his lips on hers again.

“Prove it,” she demands him, following the path he’s making across the sofa away from her until he can’t back away anymore.

“Prove what?” he asks confused, and she can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

She’s as close to him as she can get now without being his lap, her legs tucked under her so she’s eye level with him.

“Prove to me that I’m your type,” she asks, her hand sliding up his arm.

She can see the warring emotions flit across his face. There’s hesitation and shock before he settles on acceptance…and determination.

He buries his hand in her hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her towards him, claiming her lips again in an instant. Heat and desire unfurl from deep within her as she realizes that the man she loves is kissing her.

His other hand wraps around her back, bringing her closer as he shifts up onto his knee, forcing her head to tilt back. His tongue traces her lip and he moans in satisfaction when she opens her mouth to him. Her hands slide up his chest and make their way to the back of his head. She relishes the intimacy of being able to touch his hair, to run her fingers through it and pull him impossibly closer. The way his tongue carefully explores her mouth, controlling the kiss, all the while proving to her that she is indeed his type, with the passion packed between their bodies and their mouths…it blows her away.

This kiss shakes her to her core.

He gingerly pulls away from her, but not too far to stop him from dropping a few more chaste kisses before he’s completely gone and standing up.

She stares blankly ahead, her fingers tracing her lips. His deep voice breaks her from her reverie.

“Was that proof enough? Because, Felicity, if I kiss you again, I won’t be able to stop, and you…you don’t need me messing up your life. I’m not the kind of man you deserve.”

His self-deprecating words shock her as she watches him pace back and forth, his hands running through his hair over and over again in frustration. He has no idea of the depth of her feelings for him, how she fears for his life every night, how he amazes her with how much he just wants to help other people, how she missed him so goddamn much that she jumped out of a rickety plane to see him again.

She’s in front of him now, halting his movements. Her hand leads a trail up his hard chest, hidden behind his white button-down shirt. She grabs onto his shoulder and leans up on her toes, their faces just a few inches apart. She takes a moment to stare into his beautiful eyes…so beautiful.

“But you’re the man that I want.”

He looks for any hints of falsehoods in her statement, and it troubles her to still see doubt in his eyes.

“I want _you_ ,” she confesses before she pulls him down to her, her lips claiming his.

She controls this kiss, her arms wrapping around him and bringing him flush against her body, her tongue seeking entrance to his mouth as he all but growls at her when she explores him.

He pulls away from her, but quickly his lips find her jaw and then her neck. Goosebumps explode across her body and she whimpers in response to the feel of his stubble against her sensitive skin.

Her fingers unconsciously seek out the buttons of his shirt, and she manages to get two of them free before he pulls away.

His eyes are so dark now, filled with something she never thought she’d see directed at her.

Desire.

He leans his forehead down to meet hers, and the sound of their heavy breathing fills the room, but only for a moment.

“Felicity, are you sure?” he asks desperately in the small space between him, the breath of his words ghosting over her already swollen lips.

Without a word she nods her head yes in response.

***

Oliver’s pretty sure he’s losing his mind, that or he’s having a lucid curare induced dream. He’d never imagined just kissing someone could be this good, this fulfilling while simultaneously making him want more.

With her silent nod of approval he had reclaimed her lips, and now, with their hands roaming and mouths clashing, they were making their way to his bed. His bed, where he would give himself to her and she to him. Where he would intimately learn every curve and edge of Felicity Smoak’s body.

Could they really do this? Could he give the rumors about them, and specifically Felicity, creedence? Could he have this one night with her knowing he could never give her more?

When Felicity’s calves hit the foot of his bed, they both stop. His shirt is now undone and her lipstick is smeared. Their hands have fallen between them, lightly held in each other’s. After this, there would be no turning back.

“What about protection?” he asks.

They quickly cover the basics. They don’t have a condom, but she’s on the pill, and they’re both clean.

“If you want me to stop…” he starts to say.

“Don’t stop,” she interrupts him, so he tries a different approach, anything to keep this from happening, from going too far.

“If you want more, after this, after Russia…I don’t think I’ll be able to give it to you. This is all I can give you,” he tells her… begs her.

She hasn’t shied away or stepped out of his embrace, but she hasn’t looked up to meet his eyes either.

“Well then,” she starts slowly, deliberately, before lifting her eyes to meet his, “what happens in Russia, stays in Russia.”

In an instant his heart thunders in his chest, and adrenaline spikes through his blood. He loves her. He knows this now, but he also knows that with the life he leads, and the mistakes he’s made, they can never be together. So if tonight is the only chance he’ll allow himself to love her, he’s damn sure going to love her well.

Without warning, he pulls her legs out from under her, effectively dropping her to the bed behind her. She lets out a yip of surprise, but he sees no fear on her face, only a soft smile laced with desire. Scooting back on the bed, she doesn’t bother being modest, giving him a mouthwatering view beyond the hem of her short, black dress. He starts to shed his clothes, beginning with his already opened shirt and tie, but as he unbuckles his belt and lowers his pants, Felicity’s nervous babble reaches his ear. He finds her openly gaping at him.

“Oh my god, this is really happening, right now, here, in Russia. Me, Felicity Smoak, and you, Oliver Queen, are about to bang, and oh my god that sounded so crude. I’m so bad at this. I haven’t slept with anyone in a year in a half. And I’m supposed…supposed to…with *the* Oliver Queen. Jesus, why can’t I shut up.”

He’s enamored mostly by her ramble, but surprised too. Felicity’s a genius and gorgeous to boot, but she hasn’t been with anyone in over a year? Something about that nags at his mind, tells him that it’s important, but he ignores it. Right now he just wants to make her comfortable, to make her believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that they will enjoy each other’s company.

He puts a knee in between her legs and leans down over her. With one arm braced next to her, and his other hand on her hip, he kisses her slowly and purposefully. When he pulls away, he speaks to her quietly.

“Very few people have been with the real Oliver Queen, the one that came back from the island, and even fewer know the real me. You could say, you are the first person that really knows me, who I plan to sleep with. Do you understand?”

“You know me too,” she answers in understanding, and suddenly the air around them becomes more comfortable, easier to breathe.

“Can I take your dress off now? I’d very much like to see underneath it,” he says lightheartedly.

Her quick nodding and breathy, “please,” is all he needs to lower his mouth to her neck. He nuzzles her a bit and breathes in deeply through his nose, smelling her familiar scent. How many times had she passed him leaving her smell in her wake, or how many times had he bent over her shoulder under the guise of seeing her computer screen better just to get a whiff of her? It was a light flowery smell mixed with something that was uniquely Felicity, and he loved being able to relish in it.

His lips continued their way down the column of her neck, and his nimble fingers found the zipper on the side of her dress. As he inched the tiny piece of metal down, he had to admit to himself that he was just as nervous as she was. He was about to disrobe Felicity, the girl whose voice is in his ear every night, the girl that stands her ground and doesn’t let him intimidate her, the girl who is so smart she can count cards and hack Argus…the girl that sees right through him with a single head tilt.

Finally, his shaky fingers reach the end of the zipper, and he sits back, pulling her up with him so that he can lift the dark fabric over her head. He sucks in a sharp breath when he finds her braless. He quickly pushes her back down onto the mattress, his lips leaving a hot trail of kisses and nips all the way from her collarbone down to her navel. From his position, he looks up her body and can see the swell of her breasts rise and fall, her nipples already hard. He licks his lips in anticipation as he moves back up her torso, making his way to the underside of her breast. He takes his time hovering just above one of her small pebbles, allowing his breath to tickle the already sensitive nub. He swirls his tongue once, then twice around her before pulling her nipple into his mouth and sucking on it.

He’s gentle at first, unaccustomed to what she likes, but her whimpers encourage him to do more. His free hand finds her other breast, and his calloused fingers cup her entirely as he kneads the soft flesh. He sucks on the nipple a bit harder, and she moans in approval. Her hand makes its way to the back of his head where she scrapes her fingers across his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. She holds his head in place as he gets lost tasting her.

“Oliver, I don’t think…I need…it’s been so long, Oliver, please.”

The combination of his name and her desperate voice does things to him he’s never felt before. He’s proud, and not in the smug way his former playboy self might be, but in a way that affirms he’s making her feel good, that he’s making the woman he loves cry out his name. He wants to give her everything and anything. He’s never felt the need to please someone so strongly.

His mouth switches to the other breast, but this time his free hand caresses her bare stomach and takes a moment to appreciate its softness. He can feel her back arch off the mattress, and he uses the opportunity to slide his hand underneath her round ass. Like her breast earlier, he kneads the supple flesh before rotating his hand around her hip, his thumb finding her hip bone. She jerks slightly against the touch, and he smiles when he hears a soft laugh combined with a moan. When he lightly touches her again, it elicits the same reaction.

“Stop…not fair. I’m ticklish there…and aroused.”

“I think this is my new favorite thing,” he says happily before tugging down the edge of her lace panties and surprising her by quickly moving his mouth to the sensitive spot.

As soon as he lightly sucks, she bucks against him wildly, the most delightful sound leaving her mouth. He’s pretty sure he could do this all day and be content, but he knows she needs more. He pauses long enough for her to still underneath him, letting her catch her breath.

He hooks a finger in each side of her panties and looks up at her.

“May I?”

***

Felicity’s fairly certain she’s on another plane of existence…and the exhilarating part is that he hasn’t even touch her, hasn’t even entered her folds. This was *not* how she expected her evening to go when she saw Oliver and Isabel earlier. This was *not* what she was expecting when she agreed to have dinner with Oliver. This was *not* something she thought would ever, ever, ever happen in a million years.

Yet here they were, almost completely bare in front of each other, and Oliver Queen was asking permission to take off her underwear.

The way he’s looking at her, completely and utterly sincere, is almost more than she can handle. Little does he know, she’s falling more and more in love with him. His gentleness should surprise her, but it doesn’t. The Oliver she knows is a methodical, caring man underneath his jagged scars and harsh lifestyle.

But he’s an honest man too, and she knows that she’s playing with fire, and that she’s going to get burned when all is said and done. But she can’t help it, can’t help but want to get closer to him, just to enjoy his warmth before it consumes her.

So she tells him yes, and she feels the fire start to lick at her heels as she watches him pull her lace thong down her legs. After he drops them, she’s entirely unprepared for him to tug his own boxers down, revealing all of himself to her. He’s impressive to look at, which is no surprise to her, but it takes her breath away all the same.

When she realizes that she’s been staring, a blush spreads across her cheeks and she looks up at him sheepishly. Only, he doesn’t seem to notice as he’s openly staring at her as well. Now her blush burns for an entirely different reason. She’s not the most modest person, and when it comes to her physical attributes, she’s not that self-conscious…but under his gaze…his gaze changes everything. Because she loves him, and he has the power to break her apart…and she hates it.

“I’ve always known you were beautiful…but you’re so much more than I ever imagined,” he tells her breathlessly, and she does everything to fight past the lump forming in her throat.

His lips start at her ankle, and they don’t stop until he reaches her inner thigh, and that lump in her throat has all but disappeared. It’s replaced by burning anticipation, because she can sense where he’s going next, she can see the way his eyes keep glancing at her nether region.

He’s so close now, and even though she knows it’s coming, she still lets out a startled gasp when his mouth connects with her mound. It’s a few soft kisses at first before he spreads her folds with his index fingers and makes his first tentative swipe within her walls. Fire shoots straight to her core as she groans. Just as badly as she had been needing contact there, she needs more.

He’s gentle and curious at first, licking her walls, tasting her. He goes deeper, his tongue slipping further into her, his nose brushing up against her clit. She throbs painfully needing more direct contact. Suddenly, he moans against her and starts licking her with more force. She can feel the moisture building between her legs, her inner thighs becoming wet. She feels split wide open as he devours her with more and more vigor, lapping up her juices.

She’s completely on the verge of an orgasm…so close she can almost taste it. The sounds he’s making alone is almost enough to push her over the edge. Finally, his mouth clamps down on her clit, and his tongue is replaced with his finger. He buries it, knuckle deep, and curls it up, over and over, all the while sucking on her clit. She explodes almost instantaneously, his name bouncing off the walls of the spacious suite as she rides out her orgasm.

He slowly withdraws his finger, only to replace it with his tongue once again. Her walls contract once more, sending aftershocks through her body as he cleans her up.

“So good,” he moans between her legs, and she feels like laughing from hysteria at the knowledge that Oliver Queen likes the way she tastes.

“Hell yea, I do,” he says with a smile as he wipes his hand across his face.

She covers her face with her hands, slightly mortified at knowing she said that out loud. Suddenly, his hips are settled between her thighs, and he’s hovering above her.

He pulls her hand away from her face and traces her cheek with his fingertips.

“Felicity, I love your rambles and lack of filter. It’s one of my favorite things about you,” he tells her tenderly, his face so sincere.

It’s so close, but so far away from an “I love you.”

“Yea, well tell that to my 3rd grade English teach, or my 5th grade P.E. coach, or my 9th grade chemistry teacher who sent me to detention when I accidently told him he was unqualified to teach, or my…”

Finally, someone figures out how to shut her up. Oliver kisses her gently, and even though it’s chaste, she can smell herself on his lips. He tries to break the kiss off, but her hand latches onto the back of his head and pulls him closer. She licks at him, asking for entrance, and he moans into her mouth. All thoughts of her speaking habits disappear as they lose themselves in the kiss.

It’s not long before Felicity feels herself coiling back up, the pressure between her thighs building. His hands roam over her body, leaving hot scorches in their wake. She takes the opportunity to run her fingertips up and down his back, to feel hard muscles ripple and move beneath her touch. How many times had she stared at his beautiful body as he worked out? How many times had she imagined what it feel like to touch that dragon tattoo on his shoulder or try to sooth the burn marks on his lower back? She takes her time touching and grazing every part she can reach. He breaks their kiss to bury his nose in her neck, humming against her skin.

“So nice,” he says, nuzzling further into her.

She ends her exploration at the base of his neck, her fingers spreading through his hair. She feels him start to move between her thighs, his hard member bumping up against her entrance, his tip dragging slowly across her clit. She instinctively brings up her knees, her center seeking out more friction.

This was it. She’d come this far, and she needed more of him.

“Are you ready?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

***

Oliver had never felt such tenderness before. The way her fingers mapped out his back, it made him feel human, worthy of someone’s kind touch rather than their weapon, or worse yet, their beating post.

He wanted to sink into her forever, drown in her depths, and never resurface. He was ready to feel more, to know what it is to be buried deep inside her inviting walls. He had drunk from her greedily, watched as she’d come undone, and felt her muscles spasm around his finger. And it wasn’t enough. He had a feeling that he had damned himself, allowing them to go this far, to experience the pleasure of each other’s bodies, only to never allow them to do it again. He already knew that he would be carrying the memory of tonight in his thoughts for as long as he lived. He couldn’t go back.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she answered him with the most open and trusting eyes.

He had to take a moment to marvel at her beauty. Her lips were swollen from their never-ending kisses, and her skin was flushed and glowing, her blonde hair fanned out around her. She was the picture of perfection.

Gently, he positioned himself at her opening, and while their eyes locked, he moved into her slowly. Inch by inch, he found his home inside of her. He settled inside of her and stilled, allowing them both to get comfortable. They moved together, both seeking out each other’s lips.

It took everything in him not to let those three little words tumble out of his mouth. He felt the need to say them with fiery a passion in his chest.

But he didn’t, because that would be too much. Instead, he would try his best to make her feel his love. He started to move within her, and it was the sweetest ecstasy he had ever experienced. Thrust after thrust had him experiencing new levels of happiness. His hand tangled in her hair and his mouth latched onto her neck. He lavished her until he was sure he had left a mark, her cries of pleasure only spurring him on.

Her once soft caresses turned into nails grasping at his back. She wrapped her legs around him, and he felt himself anchor to her.

So this is what it felt like, to be with someone you’re in love with.

His name left her lips once again, and the desperation and desire in her voice urged him on. He quickened his pace, and he could feel her body becoming more tense. He wanted so badly to feel her come around him. He took her hands in his and stretched their arms above their heads as he found a new rhythm.

“Ol…Oliver. Don’t stop.”

He would never stop if he could. He would spend his days using his body to bring her pleasure. It was such a better use than what he’d grown accustomed to, than what he’d had to use his body for in order to survive.

He drew a hand away from hers and sought out her clit. He wanted to make her come, hopefully more than once before his own body gave in to hers. His thumb circled her swollen nub, and she cried out, her free hand digging into his shoulder, no doubt leaving marks.

He felt her clamp down on him, her walls fluttering around his member. He slowed his movements, riding out her orgasm and basking in her beauty. Her eyes, which had been closed, started to open and find his. He settled above her, bringing their bodies flush, resting his forehead on hers.

He murmured softly into the cocoon their bodies made.

“So perfect.”

“Thank you, Mr. Queen,” she replied seductively, sending a zing straight to his groin.

She tilted up and stole a long, languid kiss. After breaking it off, she pulled away and looked up at him with a mischievous smile.

Somehow, within a few seconds, she had him in on his back, the breath knocked right out of him.

“My turn,” she said before lowering herself over him in one fell swoop.

“Oh…God,” was all he could manage to get out as she started to roll her hips over him.

Just like he had, she grabbed his wrists and forced his arms above his ahead as she ground into him. Then her hands traveled back down his body. Just like she’d touched his back earlier, her fingertips grazed across each scar, and her lips followed suit. With each caress and kiss, she was burning him clean, making him new again.

When her mouth settled over the scar that had brought them together, the one that led him to the backseat of her car, she paid special attention to it, kissing it sweetly, licking it tenderly.

He couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t stop from reaching out for her.

“Felicity,” he breathed against her lips before bringing their mouths together. He sat up, his hand gripping onto her hip, the other holding her back, and shifted them to the end of the bed where his feet could find purchase.

He could feel her moan into the kiss as he made his first thrust into her, her legs wrapping around his waist. He pulled away from her to nip at her chest, his hands constantly moving up and down her back, treasuring her smooth skin.

He was close now, so close. He quickened his pace, and she met him thrust for thrust, her hands holding his head, keeping him close to her.

He brought his hand to where their bodies were joined. He had to make sure she came one more time. He knew she was getting close too, if her nails in his scalp were any indication. He rubbed at her apex and pulled back to look up at her.

“Come for me, Felicity.”

Her eyes shot open and the intensity in them burned him to his core. They had never been bluer.

“Only if you come with me,” she bargained.

Wordlessly he agreed as he tried to thrust harder. They clung to each other tightly as he continued to rub her clit.

When she threw her head back, he felt her walls shake around him once more, and it was all he needed to chase her over the cliff. He spilled himself inside of her as she continued to milk him through her orgasm. .

Together they sat there for several minutes, their chests heaving and their bodies coming down from the rush of adrenaline. He kissed her sweetly, tasting the sheen of perspiration on her neck. Ever so slowly, he shifted them back to the center of the bed, scared that this night was going to come to an abrupt end at any second.

He pulled her down on top of him, her head settling on his chest and her hair spreading out all over him. He had never been more at peace.

She was everything he never knew he needed…no, wanted, and more. Where she made him feel whole, he knew he would only break her down. Everyone that ever got close to him had suffered.

He turned them slowly, and he slipped out of her warmth. She whined in protest, but he quickly pulled her into his arms and held her close. Her head buried itself beneath his chin, her arms curling into the space between their bodies.

“Would you like me to get a washcloth?” he asked, his hand brushing through her hair.

“No, I’ll get up in a minute,” she answered through a yawn.

The day’s events and jet lag were settling over him, and all he wanted to do was sleep with her in his arms.

“Get some sleep. I set an alarm way earlier on my phone to wake me up for our rendez-vous with Dig,” she half mumbled.

That was all he needed to hear to close his eyes and concentrate on the way her body felt against his…and how much he just wanted to tell her those three words.

He was asleep within minutes.

***

Felicity wakes to the sound of a soft snore somewhere above her head. It takes her exactly five seconds to remember what had happened, whose chest she was curled into, whose body had given her the most pleasure she had ever experienced before in her life.

Oliver was sleeping soundly, his strong arms holding her tight, his legs entwined with hers. Which meant that she had woken before the alarm went off. It gave her time to collect her thoughts, prepare for the day, and accept the fact that once they left this hotel room, what they’d had together would come to an end.

A fleeting thought, or memory rather, passes through her. Her sleepy mind tries to grasp onto it, her subconscious telling her it’s important.

Like a freight train through her heart, it comes roaring back to her…those three little words he said just before he fell asleep last night.

He had told her he loved her. She was so confused as to what it meant. Did it mean that he wanted more, or was he going to stick by what he said, that all he could give her was one night?

Most importantly, did he mean it?

Her alarm blared throughout the suite, interrupting her before she could process everything. In an instant, his arms tightened around her and his body went rigid. Quietly, she whispered against his chest.

“S’okay, just my alarm.”

After a moment he loosened his grip on her and she was able to roll over to the bedside table and turn off the offending phone. She kept the blankets pulled up around her, wondering which one of them had covered them in their sleep.

She rolled onto her back and waited, for what she wasn’t sure.

He remained on his side facing her, one of his hands brushing down the side of her arm. It was such a tender touch, a lover’s touch, and she found that painful lump returning to her throat. The back of her eyes stung, and she closed them, feigning sleepiness, to get rid of the unwanted moisture.

He leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek.

“We better get ready to go break out Diggle,” she hears him say as he backs away from her.

And that’s about as much of this as she can handle. She’s completely unsure of where they stand, and there’s an awkwardness settling over the room.

She sits up abruptly, turning and scooting to her side of the bed. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and pretends to check her emails, all the while preparing herself to find her clothes and escape as quickly as she can. She can hear him behind her, feel the bed move as he gets up. She gives him what she considers a sufficient amount of time to find his boxers and pull them on before wrapping the sheet around herself and standing.

“Right, so, I guess I’ll meet you down in the lobby in about 15 minutes,” she says briskly, avoiding eye contact and swiping her dress off the floor. Her panties are a lost cause.

“Yea, okay,” she hears him mumble behind her as she heads for the bathroom.

She closes the door quickly and drops the sheet. As she tugs the dress into place, she can’t help but flash back to the night before and how it felt to have him undress her. Her hand shakes as she pulls on the zipper, and she tells herself to get it together. She knew what she was signing on for. She splashes water on her face and dabs it dry before heading out the bathroom door, her mask in place.

Oliver already has his black cargo pants on and his black t-shirt, the one that shows off every single one of his abs, abs that she now knows intimately, that she’s licked. She shakes her head in frustration and heads for the door. Her clutch is under her arm, and her shoes are in one hand. Just as she grabs for the door handle, her name on his lips stop her.

“Felicity…are we okay?”

Against her best judgement, she turns to look at him. He looks confused, maybe a bit hurt, and that lights a fire under her. He’s the one that said those three words. He’s the one that’s making this so much harder for her. Because if he loves her, why doesn’t he want to be with her?

“Sure. We’re great,” she says, the same bite in her voice from last night.

With that she turns around and leaves.

***

An hour later the two of them are sitting alone in the military grade hum-v outside of the walls of the Russian prison. It’s another freezing day in Russia, but it doesn’t compare to the cold waves coming off of Felicity.

He had woken that morning to her in his arms after experiencing the most peaceful few hours of sleep he had had since returning from the island. Before he got too lost in her embrace, he had to remind himself that things had to go back to the way they were, before Russia, before their first kiss, before they made love. At least he hoped they had made love. He knew how he felt, and he could only hope that Felicity returned a small bit of those affections towards him.

But now he wasn’t so sure. The way she had acted this morning had sent warning bells off in his mind, and even now, here on the mission, he still felt like he had done something wrong.

He couldn’t help himself, and he found himself speaking before he could think better of it.

“Felicity, are you okay?”

She turned her head towards him quickly, her eyes fiery and bright.

“Are we really not going to talk about what happened last night?”

He’s looking at her in confusion, trying to figure out where they might have miscommunicated their intentions last night.

“I thought ‘what happens in Russia, stays in Russia’,” he answers dumbly. He knows it’s a copout.

“We’re still in Russia,” she says in a huff, turning back towards the front of the hum-v.

“I’m sorry, Felicity. I don’t know what to say,” he says regretfully, because he truly doesn’t.

“Funny. You seemed to know exactly what to say last night, you know, when you told me you loved me.”

And just like that, the last few minutes of his consciousness returns to him. He remembers now, holding her in his arms, being so happy…maybe the happiest he’s ever been, and thinking how much he loves her. He remembers saying them now, and he closes his eyes in frustration.

He was supposed to keep things simple. He had had a plan. She had agreed to it. And he had fucked it up by bringing his emotions into it.

“Felicity…” he starts, but is promptly cut off by Anatoly returning to the hum-v.

His thumb and index finger rub together in frustration, but he resigns himself to having the conversation at a later time. Right now they have to focus on the mission.

***

After Lyla’s safe and back in Diggle’s arms, after they board the private jet back to Starling…Felicity promptly hides in her apartment for two days. Yes, it was suggested by Oliver that the whole team take some time off, but even if he hadn’t, she would have run for the hills anyways. There’s copious amounts of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, not to be confused with mint chip, which she eats on a regular basis. No, the cookie dough was for special occasions of pity trips and self wallowing.

She made her way through the two days, only breaking down twice, each time she saw the mark he’d left on her neck in the bathroom mirror. It was now Thursday, and despite the deal she tried to make with a crossroads demon, the world continued to spin and she had to spin right along with it.

There had only been a few curt conversations between her and Oliver. Between Russia and her apartment, she had made sure to never be left alone with Oliver. Then there had been a few texts, almost all Arrow or work related, except for one that read, “I hope you’re okay. I’m sorry.”

She had never heard of Oliver apologizing to anyone, so she at least believed that he meant it. It didn’t change the fact that she didn’t understand it.

On Thursday, she went to work with every intention of putting the whole thing behind her. Once again, her best laid plans went to crap the moment he walked into her office.

“Can you deliver this to Isabel’s office please?” he asks, dropping a file on her desk.

He’s already leaving when her mouth betrays her.

“Why now? Why’d you say it?”

He has the decency to look guilty. His next words should make her angry, livid even, but instead they just make her sad.

“It just kind of happened. It didn’t mean anything,” he says shaking his head slightly before turning his eyes to the floor.

It tells her all she needs to know. She looks down at her desk, wishing the floor would swallow her whole.

“Hey,” he says softly, and she begrudgingly meets his gaze. “Because of the life that I lead, I just think that it’s better to not be with someone who I could really care about.”

And now she’s certain, certain that he meant what he said, that he does love her, and it breaks her heart knowing he’s not willing to give them a chance.

She stands quietly and grabs the file, walking towards her office door. She makes it past him, and she can’t help but turn to him and say one more thing.

“Well I think,” she says pausing for a moment to look down and gather her strength, “you deserve better…even if it’s not with me.”

The look on his face is more than she can bare, and she makes her exit as fast as she can, leaving him standing there. She’s said her peace. Now all she can do is try to move on. She thinks it’s probably easier said than done.

*** one week later ***

Oliver gets the call right in the middle of the courthouse where he’s waiting on his mother’s verdict. A hot fiery rage consumes him when he hears the Count’s voice.

The past week had been nothing short of hell. Things had returned to normal without actually returning to normal. He and Felicity continued working together during the day and at night. They completed missions and accomplished goals seamlessly, but everything felt wrong.

She kept him at arm’s length. Gone was the friendly banter and the way she would tell him about her day. Gone were the innocent touches, the shoulder bumps, and concerned hugs when he returned injured from nightly patrols. She was cutting him off, and he couldn’t blame her.

The words she had said that day in her office cut him deep. Oliver thinks back to their conversation in the hotel room, how he told her that she didn’t deserve to be lonely…and pure hatred for himself sinks into his bones. She truly believed that he deserved happiness, and she wanted him to find it, even if it wasn’t with her. She had no idea that she was the only thing that could ever make him happy. But he couldn’t risk losing her, especially now that he had realized the depth of his feelings for her. He had been well and truly convinced that he had done what was best for the both of them.

As he makes his way through Queen Consolidated, Count Vertigo’s voice echoing through the halls, he knows that he was an idiot. He was so very wrong, and now it might be too late to ever fix things, to ever give his whole self to her.

Despite keeping her away, she still ended up in danger, and short of kicking her off the team, there was nothing he could do to ever change the fact that she was just as much a part of this life as he was. She was in danger no matter what, and he was beyond angry at himself for wasting a week that could have been spent in her arms, cherishing her, loving her, the way *she* deserves.

He has to clear his head. He has to focus on the Count alone, otherwise he could lose her forever.

He’s not even surprised when he lets three arrows fly into the evil bastard’s chest. It was him or Felicity, and from here on out he’ll always choose her.

Now they’re back at the foundry, and she’s safe…and they’re alone. She, of all people, is apologizing to him.

The gray wool blanket draped over her shoulders swallows her up, making her look impossibly small. Oliver feels her hand in his… warm, soft, alive. He can’t move, knowing what he had almost lost. Every night he dreamed of the way her skin rose with goose bumps under his touch. Or the way her red lips parted in pleasure, his name in her mouth. Or the way one night in Russia had irrevocably changed him, body and soul.

He almost lost it tonight, lost her, and their endless opportunities.

So all he can do is stare into her glassy bespectacled eyes, cling to her, and tell her what he should have known all along.

“Felicity, he had you and he was going to hurt you. There was no choice to make.”

He was a fool to ever think there was.

She starts to pull her hand away, but he holds on tightly. She looks up at him in confusion, and it takes everything in him not to drop a million kisses on her.

“Before you go, I need to tell you something, something you might not want to hear.”

“What is it, Oliver, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry…I just wanted to tell you, even if I’m too late…that, I meant it. What I said in Russia. And I mean it now. I love you, Felicity. And I’m not running away anymore.”

He watches her, unsure of what he should do, if he should just leave, if he should keep waiting for her to say something. Worry fills him as he watches tears pool in her eyes.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, truly, I am. But I’m not taking back what I said. It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said. I’m truly, madly, deeply in love with you, and I just want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me…but I really want it to be with me,” he finishes sheepishly, wiping away a few tears from under the rim of her glasses.

She grabs his hand and holds it against her face. She turns into it softly, and kisses his palm. The air around him is so thick with anticipation.

“I love you too,” she whispers to him tearfully, a new batch of tears making their way down her porcelain cheeks.

It takes all of one point two seconds for him to kiss her, to pull her to him, to have her in his arms once again.

The blanket she holds around her drops to the floor so that she can wrap her arms around him, and he feels a calm settle over him.

“Stay with me tonight?” she asks him shyly.

He can see the wariness in her eyes, the crash from her adrenaline rush settling in. He wants nothing more than to reaffirm that she’s alive by making her come undone around him, allowing them both to feel the ecstasy they had experienced in Russia once again…but that’s not what she needs right now. There’ll be time to rediscover their bodies later.

And there’s something so powerful in knowing that she needs him, wants him with her. It’s something so simple, her want for his presence, but it makes him feel special nonethelesss.

“Of course,” he answers, his voice raw with emotion.

She yelps in surprise as he leans down and picks her up bridal style. She giggles as they move through the foundry, stopping periodically to grab their personal belongings. As he fumbles with the foundry door, she huffs at him in frustration.

“I can walk you know,” she tells him pointedly, her hand brushing across his cheek, making him look down at her.

He can tell she’s all talk when he finds her glowing smile.

“No way. I just got you back. I’m never letting you go now.”

With that they make their way out of the foundry and to her car. She doesn’t question him when he puts her in the passenger seat, or when he drives them to her apartment. Just as he promised, he carries her from the car, through her apartment door, and all the way to her bed.

They tug off their shoes and coats, and quickly wrap their arms around each other, both of them letting out deep sighs.

Before long, they’re both starting to drift off, soft and welcome “I love you’s,” on their lips.

***

Felicity feels like she’s melting into her mattress, her body relaxed and comfortable. As she comes to, she realizes there’s a warmth growing between her thighs.

She awakens fully to find Oliver’s head between her legs, soft morning light filtering through her curtains. She moans out loud when he nips at her, her panties blocking him from making full contact. Memories from the night before return, and this time happiness sweeps over her. His nimble fingers pull her underwear down her legs and out of the way. Within a few seconds his tongue is buried deep inside her, and the pressure in her center is growing quickly.

She thinks, that just maybe, Russia might be her new favorite country after all.


End file.
